


I and this mystery (here we stand)

by kat_fanfic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Hint of Angst, Humor, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_fanfic/pseuds/kat_fanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wait, what?” Stiles squawks. “I have to be the <i>Elf</i>?” or The One With Derek In A Santa costume.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I and this mystery (here we stand)

„That is so not fair,“ Stiles moans and stares reproachfully at Scott and Allison’s joined hands. He doesn’t even have to look over at them to know that Jackson and Lydia are staring into each others eyes like the vomit-inducing happy couple that they are.

“Come on, Stiles,” Scott says in a cajoling tone, but there’s a smug tone to his voice that makes Stiles want to hit him. Which, yeah, not a good idea, considering the whole werewolf thing. “Just because you don’t have a partner doesn’t mean that it automatically has to be a disaster.”

Stiles just looks at him. “Oh, really. So it wouldn’t bother you at all to do the whole Santa Clause and his little elven helper thing with anyone else but Allison?”

“Of course it would!” Scott readily admits. “Because then I’d miss out on spending the day with the cutest elf ever.”

Allison aw’s at that and Stiles gags. “How is this my life?” he laments. “Being friends with couples sucks so bad. Remember when it was you and me against the world, Scott? Girlfriendless, perpetually sexually frustrated but oh so very happy?”

Scott, the traitor, rolls his eyes and doesn’t even try to hide his proud grin. “So, uh, what were you assigned to then?”

“I have got no idea,” Stiles moans. “I applied for the old people’s home, but I think the Jydia’s got that.”

Scott snorts at the nickname, looking far too amused for someone that makes up one half of Scallison.

“What about Danny?” Allison asks, pointing at him and making Stiles remember why she is still his favorite – homicidal revenge tendencies aside, of course. He actually perks up and tries to catch Danny’s eye right away, only to have his mouth drop open when the Goalie holds up a twig of mistletoe with one hand and pulls someone close to him with the other. 

“Are they,” Scott breathes, sounding as shocked as Stiles feels. “Is that… oh my god, is that _Greenberg_?”

Stiles doesn’t answer, he can’t actually, as he is too busy smashing his forehead into a convenient desk. That seems to shake something loose, because suddenly he realizes something. “Oh hey,” he says, sitting up again. “Maybe if I don’t have a partner, I don’t have to do it at all! I mean, you can’t have a Santa Clause without an elf now, can you?”

“Ah, Stiles,” Miss Morrell says then and his stomach plummets. She is holding up a sheet of paper. “I see here that you don’t have a partner for the assignment?”

“Um, yeah,” Stiles hedges. “But, that’s not actually a problem. I can just sit this one out, I guess, maybe write an essay instead? How do ten pages on the significance of Christmas in times of economic depression sound?”

“Pretty good, actually,” Miss Morrell smiles. “Although I would rather see you get into costume. You’re expected at the Beacon Pride Orphanage in an hour.”

“What, now?” He groans, his vague plans to finally get some Christmas shopping done flying out the window. It isn’t like he is late already, or something. Today is only the 23rd after all, plenty of time. Feeling like headdesking again, Stiles resigns himself to buying a lot of gift certificates online. 

“Yes,” Miss Morrell answers belatedly, checking her list again. “I can see here that we have an outside volunteer there today, so why don’t you grab one of the green bags and get changed real quick?”

“Wait, what?” Stiles squawks. “I have to be the _Elf_?”

***  
It takes embarrassingly long to squeeze into the bright green pants that fit so snugly Stiles is glad for the longish red and white tunic that just about covers his crotch. He can barely breathe on the way over to the orphanage, glad when he can finally tumble out of the jeep and get some feeling back in his legs.

He looks around, not sure where to go, when he spots someone in a red and white suit standing facing the other direction. Walking quickly towards his partner for the night, Stiles grins as he once again notices the influx of black Camaros Beacon Hills has seen since a certain sourwolf has come back to town.

“Alright, here I am, one little elf all ready to rumble,” he says to Santa’s back. “Although I don’t think I can actually rumble in these pants. I probably can’t even properly bend over in these and I don’t even want to try because I have to get them back by tonight and how in the world would I explain a rip right along my ass-cr—“ He stops short, mouth open, because it’s in this exact moment that the Santa-costume clad person turns around.

Stiles stares. Hard. He looks up and down, takes in the fake belly, the red and white pants, wide black belt and most of all, the big white beard that hangs around the man’s neck, framing a very familiar jawline.

“No way,” Stiles breathes. “Derek?!”

Derek looks at him like he always does, as if Stiles is a bug he’d like to squash. “Stiles,” he growls, and he would be intimidating, he really would, what with the spectacular frown creasing his forehead and the cold hard glint in his eyes, but then he moves and the huge belly quivers and the next thing he knows, Stiles is doubled over laughing so hard that tears run down his cheeks. 

“Oh my god, Derek,” he gasps, between bouts of the giggles. “Let me tell you that this suit looks _great_ on you. You do clean up nice!”

Derek growls, leaning closer threateningly and it’s still funny the way he moves like a pregnant woman, but he’s also _Derek_ and is as such prone to physical violence. Sobering a little, Stiles takes a step back and throws his hands up in a futile move to ward off any hits, shoves or unexpected bites. 

He never considered himself to be particularly suicidal, but even though he expects to see his life flash before his eyes any second now, he still can’t stop himself from voicing at least some of the puns his hyperactive brain keeps producing: “Felix naughty dog!” He crows, fear for his life only adding to the hilarity of the moment. “You don’t want to hurt me, cause that would make a christmess!”

Grabbing him, Derek is just about to shove him against his car – because no, apparently him getting manhandled and pushed around doesn’t get old, no matter how much Stiles wishes it would – when something saves if not Stiles’ life then at least his dignity.

“Derek?”

It’s a boys’ voice and it halts both of them in their tracks. Derek actually loosens the hold he has on Stiles’ bright green elf shirt enough so that Stiles can shake him off and peek around his huge Santa belly. The boy that has inadvertently become Stiles’ Christmas miracle looks about to be eight years old, but he’s tall, with the bluest eyes Stiles has ever seen outside of werewolf land, and a mop of wild black curls that frame his thin, pointy face. 

He is pretty, in a still-growing-into-his-nose kind of way, but that isn’t what holds Stiles’ attention. It’s the way the boy keeps looking at Derek, with a mix of anticipation and familiarity that startles him. 

What startles him even more though, is the way Derek reacts to the boy. If anyone would have tried to describe the about-face Derek does in that moment, Stiles wouldn’t have believed them. As it is though, he can see it from up close as Derek’s eyes lose their predatory gleam and an unfamiliar expression crosses his face.   
It takes Stiles a while to put a name to it, mainly because it is so strange to see it on perpetually grumpy-faced Derek. When he can finally place it, Stiles stops short. It’s simple, pure affection, and it softens the bitter lines around Derek’s eyes that Stiles had thought to be a permanent fixture.

“Hey, Nathan,” Derek says, voice gentle and about as non-threatening as it can get. There’s something odd about the tone of his voice, but Stiles can’t quite lay a finger on it. 

The boy gives Derek a small smile, eyes flickering up and down his body. “Nice costume,” he says, smile morphing into a cheeky grin. 

Stiles tenses, ready to hold Derek back if need be. After all, _he’d_ nearly had his head bitten off for a similar remark. Literally bitten off in all probability. But, to his total and eternal astonishment, Derek just raises an eyebrow and adjusts his fake beard.

“Oh, that old thing?” he says, giving the boy a deadpan wink.

Stiles stands there, his mouth gaping wide open. “Did you just…? Was that…?” he stutters, astonishment robbing him of the basic ability to speak. “That was, like. Really? A joke?” he finally babbles out, phrasing it like a question, just in case he got it wrong and hell is not currently freezing over. 

It is the boy’s turn now to look at him like he’s crazy. Frowning, he turns to Derek. “Who’s the aphasic?” he asks, in exactly the same tone of voice Derek uses about ninety percent of the time when talking to Stiles.

Stiles would be offended, he probably should be, but he is way too fascinated by this mini version of Derek. The boy – whose name is Nathan, apparently, not that they’d been introduced – doesn’t just imitate Derek’s way to use sarcasm. All his mannerisms are an exact reproduction as well, and Stiles asks himself idly if he practices them in front of a mirror or something. 

Derek huffs out a soft laugh, beginning to put brightly wrapped packages of all sizes and shapes into a large tow sack. “Nathan, meet Stiles,” he says, as if that explains everything.

Apparently, it does.

“ _That_ is Stiles?” Nathan exclaims, looking very surprised. “Huh. I thought he’d be older.”

_Hey!_ Stiles thinks, offended.

“And stronger.” 

“Hey!” Stiles says, offended. 

“And better looking,” Nathan ends on a grin. 

Derek looks up, saying “Hey,” under his breath, sounding a little irritated, much to Stiles’ surprise.

Deciding to ignore the strange behavior, brain as addled as he is able to handle right then, Stiles motions to the entrance. “Shall we go in then? I do have plans for after this, you know.”

Gaze flicking towards him, expression suddenly unreadable, Derek gives a sharp nod. “Nathan, why don’t you get everyone to the common room right away? And make sure Lucas has a front seat.”

“Sure,” Nathan says to Derek, but he is looking at Stiles. “Looks like your friend here has better things to do than give presents to orphans.”

“Hey, now wait a minute,” Stiles protests, flushing hotly. “That is not what I-“

Nathan ignores him completely. “I’ll see what I can do with Lucas,” he says, interrupting Stiles. “But you know how he gets sometimes. He’s been crying again. Maybe if you, I mean, I just thought, if you...” Glancing at Stiles, he falls silent mid-sentence. “Never mind. See you inside.”

He is gone before Stiles can either finish his own sentence or decipher even some of the layers the conversation between Derek and Nathan just had. He feels like he’s missing an important part of the puzzle here and frankly, he’s sick of that. 

Frantically searching his mind for something to save the situation, he looks on as Derek continues to stoically pack presents into the bag. Looking closer at them, he suddenly realizes something.

“Hang on,” he says, frowning at the haphazardly stacked pile of packages. “These aren’t the presents Miss Morrell made us wrap.”

Derek scowls at him, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes and – wait a minute, is there a hint of red creeping up his cheeks? 

“So,” Stiles says, at once cheery again. “Let me see if I can piece this together. You are here voluntarily, in a Santa costume, on the day before Christmas Eve, despite being wanted by crazy Alphas and lunatic Hunters. You know at least some of the kids and got them personalized presents, so you’ve obviously been here more than once.”

Derek looks like his head is about to explode. “Shut. Up.” 

“Oh, looky,” Stiles continues, for once unimpressed. He peers into the trunk. “This one here says ‘For Lissy. Because horses are awesome.’” 

“Isaac wrote the tags,” Derek grumbles and Stiles laughs out loud at his petulant tone. For some reason, Derek doesn’t seem to be quite so scary anymore. 

“You can stop the charade now, Derek. You, my friend, are a goody two-shoes,” he says, happy with this new rapport they got going where he teases Derek and doesn’t get killed directly after.

Derek looks pained. “I am not,” he murmurs. “This isn’t. I’m, uh.”

It’s not often that one gets to see Derek Hale lost for words. Stiles leans back against the Camaro with crossed arms, what he knows to be a shit-eating grin on his face. He waves his hand around in a ‘continue’ gesture, ignoring the fact that Derek’s face is thunderous.

“I am not doing this to score brownie points with anyone,” he says finally. “I have my reasons for being here.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, because _seriously_. “Sure,” he mocks. “And next you’re going to tell me that you’re here to train an army of werewolf pups to do your bidding.”

Derek’s face hardens imperceptibly, tensing subtly. On any other day Stiles wouldn’t have even noticed it, but it’s such a stark contrast to the approachable man he’d just spoken to that it’s almost painful to watch the darkness slam back into place. 

“Oh!” Stiles blames Derek’s emerging human side for the time it takes him to get it. “Nathan is like you, isn’t he? A born werewolf?”

There is a rather significant pause. “Yes,” Derek says finally, and Stiles feels like he just passed a test of some kind. “Our families knew each other. The Merchants weren’t killed by hunters, but that doesn’t guarantee Nathan and Lucas’ safety.”

Stiles gulps, thinks of two little werewolf kids left all alone to fend for themselves and swallows back bile. Derek and Laura may have been older, but they had been as alone and as lost. 

“Nobody can know about this,” Derek continues, as serious as Stiles has ever heard him. “If the Argents ever found out about them…” His free hand clenches into a fist and the angry muscle in his cheek twitches. 

About to defend Allison and her Dad, Stiles snaps his mouth shut abruptly. He can’t look away from Derek’s eyes, caught by the pain and the guilt in them that is so openly displayed for the first time. 

“Yeah,” he finds himself saying. “Okay, I get it. I won’t tell a soul, Derek, I _swear_.”

To his surprise, Derek actually smiles at him. “I know,” he says simply, once again throwing Stiles for a loop. Seriously, who is that stupidly attractive, emotionally approachable guy wearing Derek’s stupidly pretty face?

And it only gets weirder from there. From Derek’s deep “Ho, ho, ho” as they finally enter the common room of the orphanage, to the children squealing and jumping on Derek as if he is their favorite plaything. Even the older kids play along, calling out more or less PG-13 Christmas wishes to ‘Santa’ as they half-heartedly help to keep order. 

On the other side of the room, two women that Stiles assumes to be the caretakers are busy setting a huge table. Through the mayhem of flying wrapping paper, happily shouting kids and presents being tried out, Stiles can see Nathan sticking to Derek’s side like a leech the whole time.

Looking around, more than a little overwhelmed, Stiles notices that there is one little boy not reacting to it at all. He hangs back a little, never letting Derek out of his sight, but not approaching him either.

Making an educated guess, Stiles dives into the frenzy of present-hunting children and manages to grab the one labeled simply _For Lucas_. Heading over to the little boy with the huge green eyes, Stiles can feel more than see Nathan’s stare on him. He expects to be stopped, but the boy stays glued to Derek’s side, helping him hand out presents. He never lets them completely out of his sight, though and Stiles is actually proud of Nathan, the big brother.

“Hi,” he says, rather inanely, once he’s reached the small boy. “Um, I’m Stiles, Derek’s friend?” He cringes a little at calling himself that, but hey, anything for a child, right? The boy just looks at him, scooting back a little when Stiles squats down next to him.

“Ah, you’re a fan of the whole intimate space thing, I get it. How about I just sit down and you decide if you want to come closer or if you don’t, alright?”

There is no answer, but Lucas turns his curly head towards him a little, much like a cat would when faking indifference. “Wrong species,” he mutters. Louder he says: “This is for you, I think. I mean, it has your name on it and all. That is, if you are indeed Lucas. Or maybe I’m wrong and this is not for you at all-”

“It’s mine.”

Freezing, Stiles inclines his head. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Lucas says, voice barely above a whisper. “Derek got it for me.”

“So why don’t you take it?” Stiles says, keeping half an eye on Nathan, just in case he is overstepping some boundaries he is not aware of. Wolves are territorial after all.

Lucas scoffs, a surprisingly mature sound for a barely six-year old. “I don’t want some stupid present.”

Impressed, Stiles bites back a grin. “You don’t? But don’t you think Derek went to a lot of trouble to pick it out for you? The other kids sure seem to love theirs.” 

Lucas just gives him a look that says ‘dumbass’. And seriously, what is it with these little werewolf children and their eerie Derek impersonations?

“I don’t want something _from_ Derek.” Lucas says then. “I want _Derek_.”  
 _Don’t we all_ Stiles catches himself thinking.

And talk of the devil, suddenly Derek is there, all pretenses of being Santa discarded. Behind him, Nathan hovers, his expression one of barely concealed hope and desperation. It’s obvious that he wants the same thing as his little brother, but as the oldest, he is a lot more realistic.

“Lucas. We have talked about this. I can’t take you with me and you know why.” Derek sounds resigned, like the argument is an old one. 

“Yeah,” the little boy sighs, glancing around to check if there is anyone listening in. “Because of the bad people.”

Stiles makes a sound of dismay at the implications of a child this small knowing about the horrors of the werewolf/hunter war. Derek looks as helpless as Stiles feels and after a few minutes of awkward silence, Stiles has enough. These kids were behaving way too serious than children should at Christmas, he decides. “Well,” he says on impulse. “If you won’t open this,” he shakes the present, “then I will!”

Keeping a serious face as two shocked faces snap towards him, Stiles finally gives them a grin. “Just kidding.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek takes the present from him. “How about I hold on to it then? Maybe you will change your mind sometime, Lucas-“

“I want it!” The little boy suddenly yelps, snatching it out of Derek’s hands and startling a laugh out of his older brother as he immediately begins to tear apart the wrapping paper. 

Meeting Derek’s gaze, Stiles breathes a sigh of relieve as the two boys start squabbling about whose present is cooler and whose cost more. Fortunately, the dark mood has been lifted, at least for the moment and after promises of coming back as soon as possible and lots of hugs, the two of them prepare to leave.

“Well,” Stiles murmurs, waving goodbye to the kids as they walk out. “This has certainly been, um, educational.”

“Oh?” Derek says, all polite interest.

“ _Seriously_!” Stiles exclaims. “What is _wrong_ with you today? Have you been replaced by a pod person?”

Mustering him, Derek slowly shakes his head. “You still don’t get it, do you?” Without waiting for a reply, he strides over to his car, stripping off the Santa costume as he goes.

Stiles looks after him, once again feeling like he just missed something important. Wordlessly, they pack everything away and with dread Stiles feels their newfound understanding slip away already.

It’s when Derek closes the trunk lid and they’re just sort of standing there, awkwardly avoiding each other’s gaze, that he finally realizes what this has been leading up to. He feels like slapping himself in the forehead, because _of course_ this has been a seduction.

“Does Scott know about this?” He asks, rhetorically, already knowing the answer. Who else could have arranged that nobody in his class would partner up with him? 

There is something different about Derek now. It’s like the revelations of the day, the sharing of this experience, has changed the way Derek looks at him. Stiles is fascinated by the hinted smile that plays around Derek’s lips as they load all the little presents some kids gave to them in the car, the new softness in his eyes, something that Stiles has only ever begun to see today. 

He is pretty sure that this Derek is the one he would have become, hadn’t he been robbed of his family in such a brutal and devastating way. Stiles quite likes this version of his Alpha, even though he has to admit to a very disturbing attraction to grumpy, sourfaced, mean Derek. Say what you want about his socialization, but that guy is _hot_!

Smiling to himself, Stiles steps closer, deliberately invading Derek’s space, pressing him against the Camaro. He can see Derek’s pupils dilate, sees his nostrils flare and counts it as a win when a tiny sound makes it out of his throat.

From there, it’s a small step to bury his hand into dark hair and pull him close enough so that their lips are barely touching, their breaths mingling. “I get it now,” Stiles murmurs, pressing into Derek’s body, fitting like he’s meant to be there. 

“You do?” Derek asks, roughly, a pleading quality to his voice, as if he’s afraid that Stiles will change his mind.

“Yes,” Stiles breathes, closing the gap between them, sinking fully into the kiss. It feels like coming home, comfortable and fulfilling, like hot cocoa on a cold winter’s night. Desire pulses through him, even as he gentles the kiss, his free hand wandering down to grab Derek’s and hang on tight. 

“Ew, gross,” he suddenly hears from behind them. Turning slowly, Stiles sticks out his tongue at the grinning boys, smirking when Derek has to clear his throat before he can speak.

“Back inside with you two, dinner’s almost ready,” he says, sounding so much like his Dad that Stiles does a double-take. Twin giggles ring through the air and Stiles savors the sound.

“Someday,” Derek murmurs and there is a wealth of meaning behind the single word. 

Following his gaze, Stiles watches the two little boys scamper back into the house. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, squeezing Derek’s hand as hard as he can. It feels like a promise to them both.

***  
MERRY CHRISTMAS! :D  
***


End file.
